


King of the Mountain

by H3L



Series: A Game of You [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H3L/pseuds/H3L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is a mountain made flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks first to my beta, _Snowfright_ , who means the world to me. Thanks also must go to all of the folks in this fandom and the wonderful group of encouraging shippers who sail the good ship J/B on Tumblr. I couldn't ask for a better group! And thanks to all the people who enjoyed the first installement and encouraged me to wrte this sequel, I really had a great time writing it!
> 
> Please, enjoy this smutty little conclusion. Though don't look for too much artistic merit or any plot at all, there is none of that. ;)

Royce Marchwest was droning on, discussing the lengthening light excitedly. Jaime wanted to be excited too, to share in the lad’s optimistic opinion that the war was nearing its finish. He wanted to believe that the Dragon Queen’s fierce dragons would soon conquer the beasts they met every eve and fought hard against during the long nights. Jaime had to admit, the days were lengthening, though deep down he was afraid to believe it was more than a ruse, a trick of the enemy to lull them with hope only to dash the forces of men against the crumbling Wall. No. The only hope he would allow himself in that wretched place was up a crumbling set of stairs, in a blackened tower, and likely growing cold waiting for him. He nodded and nodded and started to walk, finally prying himself free of the young would-be knight when he reached the base of the Lord Commander’s tower.

“Unless you mean to also bed my lady, you had best be on your way, boy,” he said tightly, daring the lad to follow him then. Instead the boy’s brows raised high on his forehead and he stopped walking dead in his tracks. _Quicker than Pod_ , Jaime thought, a smile crossing his features. 

The glow of their hearth fire was hot, but his body was still chilled from the wind off the Wall and he knew it would take more than the meager fire to warm him. His hair dripped loudly on the floor boards, the icicles melting and dribbling down his face. He shook his head out, grinning at the spray that caught Brienne, and met his lady’s big, blue eyes. She rolled them disapprovingly but couldn’t help her own grin, her large, horsey teeth peeking out from behind thick, chapped lips. She was a mountain made flesh, covered in a dusty landscape of imperfections, the terrain of which beckoned him. His wench had freckles and scars, patches of chapped red skin like he had, and each flaw begged for his lips and tongue, for lingering touches and curling fingers. She was laid out, blushing in the firelight and biting her lip, a thin linen sheet bunched beneath her as though she had only just thrown it off and had thought perhaps to have it near so that she might hide beneath it. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, not for nervousness or friction but in some semblance of modesty. He could only imagine her waiting for him, deciding whether to remove her clothes or stay armored, whether to bathe or wash together after he had taken her. She was stripped bare, clearly in wait, a sign that she had been thinking of him as much as he had been thinking of her. 

From their first night together as man and woman and not comrades-in-arms, a fortnight past, they had shared much more than a bed. Brienne had given him her body, such as it was, and he gave her, quietly and with kisses and unspoken words, what little honor he had remaining. Still, they were new. He often had to pry her hands from paltry breasts to expose those dusky buds he loved to lavish attention on. She still blushed under his gaze, regardless of how wanton she was under the onslaught of his lips, which he found to be more enticing than any brazen advance. He’d found himself flushing with desire night after night, though he was unsure how there was blood left to flush when it felt that every drop was rushing through his cock. 

He crossed the room, all traces of his coy grin removed as he knelt on the bed, carefully balancing so as to remove her large right hand, her sword hand, from that tantalizing juncture between her thighs. The blond hair he uncovered was dark blonde and curled tightly, rough against his fingertips. She offered little resistance, but her intake of air sounded like the rush of a winter wind in their quiet chamber. He kept her hand in his, easing himself down slowly to lean forward and place his chin on her thigh. Her fingers gripped his compulsively when he blew across the dappled skin of her hip, stirring her thatch of hair. Brienne was deliciously responsive, and one of the delights of bedding her was watching her body tense under his careful touch. She was taut as a harp string as he puffed little bursts of air across her skin, her corded muscles clenching while she moaned and sighed like sweet music. He had made sure in their explorations to go slow with her, always coaxing and gentle, but was been finding it more and more difficult to quench the desire he had to _truly_ claim her. And though he has let himself sink into her and feel the delicious tightness of her walls around his cock, he had not spent himself in her. Food and drink were hard enough to come by in the North, as well as good steel, Tansy would be too much to ask for in that barren wasteland where no flowers grew. 

He released her hand from his grip, settling it gently on her stomach, and walked his fingers up her thigh to trace the path his breath just made. She was wet and willing, her blond hair damp and her lips swollen and sensitive. She groaned. It was a low rumble in her throat that sounded more beast than woman when he slid a long finger against her furrow. Jaime licked his lips, clenching his teeth at the feeling of his breeches pressed tightly against his swelling manhood. He lapped at the skin of her thigh, nosing his way forward and breathing her deeply in. She smelled of musk and sweat and want. A woman’s desire was something that could be tasted in the air, and it was a scent he had not realized he had missed until he smelled it on her. She was drenched in it, covered, and he wanted to drink it in, drink her in. 

He noticed her thighs were flushed and blotchy from his teeth, making Brienne’s freckles stand out, when he dipped his head forward to let his tongue flick across her folds. She gasped, wriggling against the bed as if to flee when he lapped at her. Jaime nearly crowed in triumph when she began to whisper his name into the night air, dragging his teeth against the nub he had been looking for. 

“Jaime,” she whispered, muttered, prayed. Over and over she said it, “Jaime,” and it thrilled him. He had not given her a _Lord’s Kiss_ before, and he was enjoying her reaction to the new sensation. He had grown bored of ‘Commander,’ ‘Lord,’ and the tired ‘Kingslayer.’

“Quiet, wench, I am very, _very_ busy just now.” He smirked and dipped his tongue along her seam again, letting his fingers spread her open for him. She was slick and pink and utterly perfect, the color of a summer flower. 

Brienne bent her legs and he felt her knees try to close but he shouldered himself in place, drinking of her greedily and marveling at the sounds she made above him. He had not lasted long in their other encounters, rushing to his climax far faster than he was used to and pulling abruptly away to spill his seed in the bedding or a stray rag. He had once emptied himself on her stomach when he had not managed to pull away from her soon enough, and Brienne had admired his seed in the dimming light, dragging her finger though the puddle and tasting him the same way she had tasted herself on that fateful first night. The picture of her, innocently savoring him like the young girl she was, curious about all things new and interesting, had him near hard again. Thankfully she kept the bits of cloth by her bed, though her moon’s blood was infrequent, so that he could easily wipe her down. Those nights, after he had sated himself, he had carefully slid his fingers along that sensitive bud he was now tonguing, feeling it swell and pulse beneath the callused pad of his finger. He had thumbed it in tiny circles and crooking his fingers deep inside her until she all but screamed, her head thrashing and her hair matted against the pillows. He loved crawling over her as she lay satisfied, predatory like a mountain lion, ruling her hills and plains and freckled terrain. 

Brienne fisted her fingers in his hair, tugging and scratching and he couldn’t help but nuzzle himself against her as she crested that delicious wave. He felt a sort of pride warm his chest when her back fell to the bed after arching into him. She sighed. He took that moment to divest himself of his breeches, the only remaining clothing separating them, and settled between her legs again. He wiped his glistening chin with the stump of his right wrist, removing the excess fluid from her peak. Her legs opened, accommodating him, and he loved the strength of her thick thighs as they gripped him. Cersei had been fierce, a lioness, but she was so much a woman. It had been easy to claim her. Brienne was a challenge, a warrior. To bed Brienne he needed to best her and that was no easy feat. Though he suspected she was letting him. Jaime kissed her languidly and hooked his right arm under her thigh. He lifted her leg up, bending it to her and pushed his cock against her, nuzzling it against her opening. His near to leaking tip scraped against her wet tangle of hair, saliva and her own slickness mingling to ease his way inside her. He choked on the sensation, only just holding himself together. He felt like a green boy, so close to coming undone at the slightest touch but too eager to hold himself back. Everything about them was fresh, raw and tantalizing, but he was eager to make her peak while she held him inside her. Her fingers clutched his shoulders, her fingernails, filthy and broken, scratched at him. He kissed her deeply, his left hand toying with her breast and his thumb dragging over her sensitive little bud, his fingernail inflicting its own delicious revenge for Jaime’s savaged shoulders. And when he pulled his lips from hers he sunk into her fully, watching as those astonishing eyes closed and her mouth fell open. Her teeth were hidden by her lips and only her pink tongue was visible, so he dipped his head back down and pulled it into his mouth. He let his tongue tangle with hers, a distraction from the feeling of her grip on his manhood, and bit at her lips. 

She was rising to meet him as he pumped, finding a rhythm that was not too fast to ruin him and not so slow that she could recover suitably from her own undoing at the mercy of his mouth between her thighs. The bed beneath them rocked and creaked, and he was momentarily glad that they were all alone in the Lord Commander’s tower, much of it burnt and unstable. The men would get little to no sleep if they were forced to listen to the scraping and groaning of the bed the two nightly strained. Brienne was a novice, but she was slowly learning what felt good to her. In turn her muscles shuddered around him with every buck of his hips as her body neared to that sensation of elation she craved. He forced his eyes open, taking in her thrown back head, the long, white column of her neck, and the slight bounce of her breasts. His eyes, clouded by lust, seemed to perceive them differently, they seemed more full than he remembered them being. It was as though nightly she gained more of a woman’s figure, as though he were changing her with his touch, forging her new like flame to steel. She cried, a strange little mewl that was comical after the war cries he was more used to, and he felt her pulling him deeper and bucking more erratically beneath him. 

Tensing, Jaime brought his hands to her hips and moved to pull away. It was too much. He pulled back, almost slipping from her completely, when he felt the heels of her feet press into his back. He lost his balance and stumbled forward, their rhythm broken. “No,” she breathed against his ear, her heels pulling him tighter. 

“Brienne,” he begged, his hips involuntarily ground against her. His cock was swollen and he rutted pathetically, unable to move. 

“I know,” she whispered back. With a force he didn’t expect, she flung him to the side. The Lord Commander’s bed was wide and sturdy, Jaime found himself easily overtaken. She straddled him, her face unsure but determined. 

“What are you doing?” He asked her, groaning the words more than speaking them.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, and rolled her hips. He flung his left hand to the side, scrambling for purchase in the folds of the bedding. She rolled above him again and he shut his eyes against the visual onslaught of her over him. She looked like a Queen as she rode him, more the mountain cat then he had ever been. _No, she is the King and I the mountain_ , he realized. Her beauty was scant but her grace was abundant when her back arched and she flung her face skyward. He gripped her around the back with his useless right arm, steadying her with his stump as her desire won out over her inexperience. She rode him exuberantly, strongly, and when she found that perfect pace he began to beg, for the Gods that had forsaken them on the Wall, to have mercy. She impaled herself again and again on his rigid shaft and Jaime did all he could to hold back but released with a desperate, strangled, wordless cry. 

She continued her assault, lost in pleasure and the sensation of being filled, eventually collapsing on his chest in a heap, spent as he was. She was shivering and sweat-drenched, breathing heavily and stirring the thick gold hair that covered his chest with her exhales. He waited, letting his breath slow and his heart resume its beat before grabbing her face and lifting it to look in her sapphire eyes. “Why would you do that?” He asked her. “Do you fancy testing you mettle against a wight with your belly full with child?” Her eyes were wide and guileless, it made him angry. “Is that what you want? Wench, I don’t think the smiths have yet mastered the ability to make plate mail that could protect and unborn child.” He tried to keep a rein on his temper, but the words were becoming strained with his fury. “Or is it death in the birthing bed you want, thinking it better than death amidst ice and snow?” 

“I don’t want a child.” 

"Then, what?” He shook her shoulder with his good hand, his only hand, and sat up. He couldn’t imagine what would make her endanger herself in that way. He would _not_ lose her, not after they had come this far. He was softening inside her, but he ignored the sensation, not able to yet bring himself to push her off of him.

“I wanted you, I wanted to feel-” She broke off, her face searching his and blushing, dropping her head. “Would it be so bad?”

“To have a child?” Her head was bowed, her longer hair brushing over her freckles and milk white skin. No, it would not be so terrible to watch a child grow up with her eyes and his smile and her endless honor. He thought then of his lost chances, of Myrcella in Dorne and poor, Tommen, sweet and tender. The boy had been too young to reign and too gentle to fight. And Jaime thought of the monster Joffrey had been, the boy who Cersei had been convinced was punishment for their love. _No_ , he thought, _it would not be bad_. What it would be is a blessing he did not deserve, like Brienne. 

“Perhaps not, but would you raise a child on the Wall? Would you have wights and white walkers as your nursemaids?” He asked her, seriously.

“Not here, but…somewhere else.” Her voice was quiet and sullen, youthful. He sometimes forgot how young she was, a girl no more than four and twenty. It was evident in her desire and in her youthful enthusiasm when they coupled, but she was hard and strong and fought with sad, beautiful, determined eyes. He sometimes forgot he had over ten years on her, was thrice over a father. She was just a girl, the Evenstar’s only daughter. Yes, she was scarred and strong, and he spent his nights defiling and deflowering her, but she still had hope. She had hope that there might one day be a ‘somewhere’ left suitable for raising children and not just frozen wilds. 

“It is a sweet dream, a dream of spring,” he told her, lifting his left hand up to her face and tilting it so that he could look her in the eyes. He was stunned, as he so often is, by the blue of her eyes. “One that I would see made real,” he told her truthfully, “but we must survive this long winter first, my Lady.” She nodded, the hint of a smile lighting her features.

“It is something to fight for, is it not?” She asked him and Jaime rubbed her cheek with his thumb, bringing her face forward for a kiss. 

He savored her, sweet and salty on his tongue, tasting of sex and something that reminded him of a love he had once had during a long summer. “Something _more_ to fight for.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments, hits, kudos, and every single glance this fic gets I am eternally grateful for.


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